


The Grasshopper Unit

by harriet_vane



Series: Spies and Ninjas Universe [2]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 14:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harriet_vane/pseuds/harriet_vane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost a sequel to The Negotiation Limerick File. If you haven’t read that, this will make even LESS sense. One of Mikey's wacky inventions gets used by accident. Mayhem and toddlers ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grasshopper Unit

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't post this fic anywhere else, please don't distribute it anywhere, please don't put it on goodreads, and really really please don't link it to anyone being written about here. Thanks!

  
“The thing is,” said Gerard, fidgeting. “The thing is. Are you sure that’s what happened?”

Mikey’s face was absolutely as blank as it could possibly have been. “It’s no weirder than that time in Berlin with the ninjas,” he said. “Remember? We had to tell everyone we’d set Bob on _fire_ to explain that.”

Gerard nodded quickly. Bob felt a little resentful about the whole thing; next time a supervillain caught one of them and decided to torture him, it could be Gerard, and _he_ could come up with his _own_ excuse. “I’m just asking, though,” said Gerard. “Because. I mean. How can you tell for _sure_? That’s the question.”

Frank laughed his super high-pitched obnoxious giggle. Bob looked at him balefully, but Frank thought that was even funnier.

“It’s pretty obvious,” said Mikey. “Go look for yourself.”

“Let’s just survey the damage,” Ray ordered. Bob liked it when Ray took charge; he was sensible, even if everything he said sounded a little ridiculous because of the high-pitched voice. Ray swung the hotel bedroom door open.

There was a kid sitting on the bed. Not a kid like Bob had been hoping was sitting on the bed; not a surly twenty-year-old with a stern glare. No, this kid was little enough that his feet dangled well above the floor, and his face was all round with baby-fat; he couldn’t have been more than five. Five on the outside. More like four.

The glare was the same, though.

“There’s only one,” said Gerard, frowning. He was lurking in the doorway, but it wasn’t like any of them were shoving to get inside.

Mikey waved vaguely. “They’re in there somewhere. I’m pretty sure. Unless they went out the window.”

“Oh, _Jesus_ ,” said Ray, and pushed past them into the room.

Bob looked at the kid on the hotel bed, and the kid on the bed looked back at him. It was almost a stare-off, but Bob wasn’t trying to look scary – he didn’t like scaring toddlers – and the kid looked kind of uncertain under all the glaring. “Where’d Ryan go?” Bob asked. “Spencer. Where are Jon and Brendon and Ryan?”

Spencer looked at him suspiciously, which Bob got; grownup Spencer wasn’t much for giving up Ryan, either. It was one of the reasons he was the best spy in the band. Spencer crossed his arms and finally said, “He’s hiding.” His voice was tiny and piping and kind of adorable, and he looked mad as hell.

“Hiding where?” Ray asked impatiently.

Spencer clearly wasn’t going to answer. Bob could have _killed_ Mikey for building a new machine out of the coffee maker and then using it on Panic when they were only in town for the weekend. If he’d turned Frank into a toddler they could have claimed he was off getting married again or something. Shit, if they turned Frank into a toddler _who would notice?_ But if Panic went missing it would end up a _thing_. At least he hadn’t sent Spencer into the seventies again; the hour and a half where they couldn’t find him – it had been a week for Spencer, it turned out – had been hell on Ryan, who didn’t have nerves of steel when it came to missing best friends.

There was a giggle in the closet. A really loud, happy, ridiculous giggle.

“Brendon,” said Bob immediately, and slid the door open.

There were three more kids in the closet. Bob ignored Spencer’s outraged noise to make sure Mikey’s machine hadn’t accidentally given anyone two noses or three arms. They looked just about like he’d expected; Brendon was sitting cross-legged and covering his mouth with both hands, all big eyes and smothered giggles. Ryan was as far back into the corner as he could get, knees drawn up and biting his lip, staring at Bob with huge, scared eyes. Jon was sitting next to him, holding his hand, looking pretty mellow about the whole thing.

“Tag, you’re it!” Brendon burst out, smacking Bob on the knee, and scrambled to his feet. He was out the door and past the grownups standing there before anyone else could react.

“Brendon! You have to stay with us!” Spencer yelled, and took off after him.

Frank laughed so hard he staggered a little bit, and Gerard had to support him with one arm. “I’m gonna go get them,” said Frank, running after them into the hotel suite.

Bob looked at Ryan and Jon, still curled up in the corner. “You hiding?” he asked quietly.

Jon shrugged. Ryan hesitated and then nodded.

“It’s a good hiding place,” Bob said gravely. “But you can come out now.” Ryan looked distinctly uncertain, and Bob thought that maybe the fact that he was now one one-millionth Bob’s size was the problem. Bob had saved the world a few times now, but he’d never dealt with toddlers. “Do you remember us?” he asked.

Ryan considered, and then shrugged. “Kinda,” he said reluctantly. He hadn’t let go of Jon’s hand.

“How old are you?” Ray asked, squatting by the closet door.

Jon held up his hand, all five fingers out. “My birthday’s in September,” he said. “I’m gonna be seven.” Clearly he would have held up six fingers, but Ryan had a deathgrip on his other hand. “And Ryan’s _going_ to be six. Brendon just turned five. But I’m the oldest by a lot.”

“So Spencer isn’t even five yet, oh my god. Do you remember us?” Ray asked hopefully.

Jon nodded hesitantly. “You’re… We know you,” he said. “You’re not strangers. I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

Well, that was something at least. Ray looked at Bob, and Bob shrugged. Kid brains were little and squishy and it was no real surprise that all their grown up memories weren’t totally intact if they’d gotten kid-ified. At least no one was screaming stranger danger and demanding their mommies.

There was a high-pitched squeal and a giggle that might have been Frank, or it might have been a pre-schooler. Frank walked back in, with Brendon slung over his shoulder upside down, giggling and turning red and kicking wildly. Spencer trailed behind them, giggling too.

“Frank’s a cheater!” said Brendon, flapping. “I said _Bob_ was it!”

“You remember our names?” asked Bob.

“I do,” said Spencer immediately.

“Oooooh, I’m gonna throw up,” said Brendon happily.

Gerard recoiled immediately. “Jesus, Frank, put him down.”

Brendon giggled when Frank flipped him over and put him down on the bed. He swayed a little and fell on his back. Spencer climbed up next to him, and once Spencer was there Ryan was willing to edge out of the closet, although he dragged Jon along with him. They climbed up on the bed, too, Ryan sitting carefully behind Spencer and Jon poking Brendon thoughtfully in the stomach to make him giggle.

Gerard pursed his lips. “Okay,” he said. “So we kind of have a problem. What do you guys remember about spying on the United Nations building this weekend?”

Brendon wiggled so his head was in Ryan’s lap and blinked at them. “I wanna be a spy,” he said. “Can I have a ray gun? Pzzzow, pzzzow, pzzzzzow.”

“Stop it,” said Spencer, smacking his hand. “They’re _real_ spies. It’s not a stupid game.”

Ryan tugged on Spencer’s sleeve and whispered something to him. Spencer rolled his eyes and shook his head, and Ryan got the same pissy, grumpy look he always had when Spencer didn’t let him be in charge. Ryan whispered again, a little louder this time.

Spencer sighed, incredibly put upon. “Okay, fine,” he said. “Ryan wants to know if Gerard has crayons to color. Gerard likes to draw, right?”

Bob had to work incredibly hard not to burst out laughing. “You remember that, huh?” he said.

Spencer frowned. Little or big, Spencer was pretty sensitive to being laughed at. “I remember you’re a band,” he said. “And you’re spies. And we’re a band too, but usually… Usually we’re bigger, right?” He screwed up his face thinking about it, and it was so fucking cute Bob could have died.

“Not much bigger,” Frank muttered, and giggled. Mikey cracked a smile, too.

“Bigger enough,” Ray clarified. “Mikey, how soon can you fix this?”

Mikey looked at the coffee maker. It was mostly shards and smoke and dead wires fizzling on the floor. “I dropped it,” he said unnecessarily. “I wasn’t expecting it to go off, I was just trying to show it to Jon.”

“An hour?” Bob asked, stomach flipping over. “Two?”

“More like a day, at best,” Mikey said. “I’m gonna go email myself, see if I solved this problem already. I mean, I warned me not to fuck around with it, but.” He shrugged. “I don’t listen.”

Gerard was getting a panicked look on his face, like when he thought Frank had been captured by the bad guys. “We can’t have kids around for a whole day,” he said. “We don’t… What do they _eat_?”

“I like french fries!” Brendon chirped. “And pizza. And chicken fingers. And spaghetti. And—”

“And absolutely nothing with sugar,” said Ray.

Mikey sighed, like he couldn’t believe how hard his life was, and wandered off to his laptop. Bob had mostly gotten over the weirdness of Mikey emailing himself from the future, but he couldn’t get over how _nonchalant_ Mikey was about it.

“Maybe if they just stay right here, and sit quietly, and no one moves—” Gerard started.

Spencer crossed his arms. “Do you have crayons or _not_?” he demanded.

Gerard flapped, clearly nonplussed. “I… Yes,” he said. “Well. I have watercolors. And charcoals. And pastels.”

For the first time, Ryan’s face lit up with something like excitement. “Go get them,” said Bob firmly.

“But he’ll get them all over his little hands!” Gerard complained. “He’s probably all sticky!”

Bob gave him a stern look. “You’re usually all sticky,” he pointed out. “When’s the last time _you_ showered?”

“But!”

Ray patted him soothingly on the shoulder. “It’ll give them something to do. Little kids don’t just sit around,” he said.

“I did,” Gerard sulked, but he went off to get them anyway.

Frank looked thoughtful. “My comics will distract them for a little while,” he said. “But I think maybe a rousing game of Red Light, Green Light, is what’s called for here.”

“I wanna play, me me me me!” Brendon yelled, sitting up so fast he almost smacked Ryan in the face with his head. “Spencer, come play with me. Jon! Come on!” He seemed to know Ryan wasn’t going to, because he grabbed Spencer and Jon by the hand and launched himself off the bed.

“Hallway!” yelled Frank, and led the way. The kids ran after him, although Spencer looked back over his shoulder at Ryan, who nodded.

“Doesn’t he usually not like them this much?” Bob asked Ray, frowning.

“Frank’s just excited to have people around as immature as he is,” Ray sniffed.

“Right,” Bob said, “Because _you’ve_ never filled my shoes with toothpaste just for fun.”

“Shut up,” said Ray, and looked at Ryan. “So,” he said awkwardly. “Coloring?”

Ryan nodded.

“Coloring,” Bob sighed. This hadn’t been in the spy-training manual anywhere.

\\\\\

For about an hour, it wasn’t that bad. Gerard spread out his notebooks and a bunch of different kinds of pens on the table in the main room of the suite, and Ryan climbed up in one of the chairs and drew. Mostly flowers, and sometimes stick figures who might or might not have been his band. Meanwhile the door to the hallway was open, and Bob could hear Frank yelling “Green light!” followed by giggling and pounding sneakers, and then “Red light!” followed by more giggling and what sounded like tiny people crashing into each other.

Bob was pretty sure it couldn’t last, though. It was getting late – Panic had come over to see the plans for the weekend’s break-and-enter after doing some press stuff in New York – and it was well past dinner time for kids. It was edging toward what Bob considered bed time. He had no idea that anywhere in his brain lurked information like “what time pre-schoolers should be in bed,” but there it was.

When Frank finally said, “Okay, that’s enough,” there was a chorus of “Awwwwwws,” from the hallway, but they sounded tired. Frank pushed the kids back into the suite, where Spencer promptly went straight to Ryan, and Ryan promptly started coloring on him.

“Can we watch TV?” Jon asked.

“TV rots your brain,” said Ray.

“Of course!” said Gerard at the same time, and they glared at each other.

Jon ignored them both and climbed up on the couch. “Cool,” he said. “Thanks.”

Brendon was still standing by the door, fidgeting from foot to foot. “I’m _bored_ ,” he said, looking appealingly at Bob.

What the hell was Bob supposed to do about that? Grownup Brendon had more energy than ten normal people; this little tiny one looked like he could run a marathon. Bob looked around the suite for something to distract the kid. He wasn’t going to settle for TV or comic books or coloring. “Uh,” he said finally. “Tambourine?”

“Tambourine!” Brendon yelled, throwing his arms up in the air. That was something big Brendon did sometimes, too. Bob pointed and Brendon ran to grab it, shaking it with wild enthusiasm and a lot less skill than usual.

“The tambourine is _mine_!” Spencer yelled, wrenching his arm free from Ryan. “Brendon! It’s mine!”

Brendon stopped mid-bang. “But you don’t _like_ it,” he said.

“But it’s still mine!” Spencer jumped off the chair and tried to wrestle the tambourine away from Brendon, who went from astonished to hurt to mad over the course of about three seconds, and wrapped both arms around it.

Spencer managed to knock Brendon over, but Brendon dragged Spencer down with him. It was the noisiest fight Bob had ever witnessed, between the tambourine and the shouting and the tiny kicking feet. Ray looked at Bob, and Bob sighed. He leaned over and picked Spencer up by the arm as Ray grabbed Brendon.

“Play nice, or no one gets it,” said Bob. It was weird, the way his dad’s words just _appeared_ in his mouth like that.

“But I had it _first_ ,” Brendon wailed, and burst into tears. Ray’s face was hilariously horrified.

Spencer had a death grip on the stupid tambourine. He looked defiantly at Bob. “It’s mine,” he said insistently.

Bob was way, way over his head here. He knelt next to Spencer and looked him seriously in the eye. “Do you just grab things away from your sisters like that?” he asked.

The change was immediate. Guilt chased shame across his face, as Spencer looked down at his shoes and shook his head.

“I didn’t think so,” said Bob. “Listen. Give Brendon the tambourine, okay?”

Spencer mumbled the world’s most insincere “Sorry,” and handed the tambourine to Brendon. Brendon stopped crying immediately, and Bob filed that way; Brendon could turn tears on and off at will. The little faker.

But Spencer had been nice, and he was technically younger than Brendon, even if he didn’t act like it, so Bob picked him up and put Spencer on his shoulders. “How’s that?” Bob asked.

“Awesome,” said Spencer. He patted Bob on the head a couple of times.

“Me, I want to, me next!” Brendon yelled immediately, standing up.

Bob rolled his eyes. “One at a time,” he said. “Go play with Ray or something.”

He’d meant it as kind of a joke, but Brendon looked seriously at Ray. “Can I braid your hair?”

Ray blinked. “I… guess so?” he said.

“Okay then,” said Brendon, and that was one crisis averted.

\\\\\

Ray ordered everything Brendon had listed from room service. They seemed a little surprised, so Ray shouted at them – he was a surprisingly good shouter – until they agreed that they’d find chicken nuggets and fish sticks, too, somewhere in the kitchen. They might have taken Ray less seriously if they’d seen him with his hair in nine or ten messy and weirdly uneven braids. Brendon looked awfully proud of himself.

Ryan was still coloring, about half on the paper and half on his own arm. “What are you drawing?” Gerard asked, since it mostly looked like swirls.

Ryan shrugged and pointed to Frank.

“That doesn’t look like me,” said Frank.

Gerard rolled his eyes. “He’s drawing your _tattoos_ ,” he said. “Duh.”

Ryan’s smile was quick and brilliant and Gerard returned it with his own doofy lopsided grin. “I get you,” said Gerard, and leaned over the table to high-five Ryan.

“I want to color, too,” Brendon announced. “Can I color with you, Ryan?”

Spencer, still on Bob’s shoulders, tightened his grip on Bob’s hair a little. “You’re too messy, Bren, you’ll get the color everywhere,” said Spencer.

“No, I won’t,” said Brendon, helping himself to a handful of charcoals. “I can be careful.”

“No, you’re messy,” said Spencer imperiously, and maybe being the tallest person in the room at the moment wasn’t helping his apparent Napoleon complex. Bob thought about it for a second, and then reached up and tickled Spencer’s knee.

Spencer giggled and kicked him. “Knock it off,” he said, so Bob did it again. Spencer squirmed and laughed and kicked. Bob had his other hand on Spencer’s arm, so he wasn’t too worried the kid was going to take a nosedive to the floor.

“Stop being bossy,” said Bob.

“I’m not, I’m – _Bob_!” Spencer squealed, trying to bend in half so Bob couldn’t tickle his side. “Stop, stop, stop, stop!”

Ryan was looking at them with undisguised horror, so Bob stopped. “He’s okay,” said Brendon reassuringly. “Bob’s just playing.” Brendon’s face was totally covered in grey smears, and his shirt was probably ruined. Bob rolled his eyes.

Spencer was still a little breathless from giggling. “I’m not bossy!” he said, and then immediately, “Put me down, I wanna sit on the couch with Jon.”

Of course he did. Bob swung Spencer down and Spencer climbed up on the couch with Jon, who was hypnotized by – “Frank!” Bob yelled. “Are you watching _Desperate Housewives_? That show’s full of sex!”

“They’re not _really_ little,” Frank grumbled.

“Frank, god damn it,” said Bob.

Brendon’s eyes were huge. “You _swore_ ,” he whispered, looking scandalized.

Was tiny Brendon still a Mormon? Bob wasn’t sure how that worked. “Uh, sorry,” he said.

Ryan was thoughtfully coloring a pink flower on Brendon’s arm. Brendon giggled. “That tickles,” he said. Ryan stopped, and Brendon said, “No, it’s okay. You can color on me if you want. We’re boyfriends.”

He said it so fucking casually that Bob just froze. He looked at Ray, and Ray looked at Gerard, and Gerard shrugged. Frank laughed like a hyena. “Boyfriends?” asked Bob carefully.

“I remember that,” said Brendon certainly. “I love Ryan and Ryan loves me. Ryan, I’m gonna draw a heart on your face, okay?” Ryan nodded, and Brendon picked up the red marker.

Bob could have thrown up from all the cute. “Oh,” he said. “You remember that, huh?” He wondered what else Brendon remembered, and how his little kid brain was making sense of it.

“Spencer loves Jon, but they’re _not_ boyfriends,” Brendon went on. He would apparently chatter to himself all day, if no one stopped him. “Even though Jon loves Spencer, too.”

“I do,” Jon agreed from the couch. Spencer slouched a little, blushing.

“And Ryan loves Spencer, but that’s different.” Brendon’s heart looked more like a birthmark. “That’s best friends.”

“Why aren’t we recording this?” Frank asked suddenly. “This is the greatest blackmail material of _all time_.”

Ray frowned. “Because what if someone saw it, dumbass? You gonna explain about Mikey and everything?”

“Oh.”

Gerard, though, had a vaguely evil look on his face. “Jon doesn’t love Spencer like best friends?” he asked Brendon. He was coloring, too, but it looked like zombies and vampires.

“No,” said Brendon confidently. “It’s like I love Ryan. Okay, done!” He beamed at Ryan, and Ryan beamed back. Being boyfriends apparently cheered Ryan up.

Gerard cackled to himself. “I _thought_ so,” he said.

“Gee,” said Bob warningly. “Stop trying to fix everyone up.”

They were saved from impending moral crisis by room service arriving. Ray insisted everyone go wash their hands, and there was a lot of pouting and yelling – mostly from Frank, who didn’t see why _he_ had to, too – but everyone trooped into the bathroom to wash. Bob was relieved, because Brendon had gotten filthier faster than any child he’d ever met before. Not that there had been a lot.

Dinner should have been easy – it was all kid stuff. Mikey was abstaining, still emailing himself and muttering angrily that since he was in the future he really could have been prompter. Gerard and Frank split the pizza and the kids went for the finger food.

But all the tiredness Bob had been waiting for suddenly appeared; Spencer and Brendon reached for the same french fry at the same time, and Brendon burst into tears. “Ryan, eat something,” Gerard ordered, but Ryan just shook his head and shoved the plate away with his arms crossed.

“He doesn’t like that,” said Spencer authoritatively. “He only likes some stuff.”

“Like what?” Ray asked.

Spencer shrugged. “He likes sandwiches.” Ryan leaned over and whispered something to Spencer. “And ice cream.”

“He’s not having ice cream for dinner,” said Bob flatly, and Ryan stuck his lip out with a _tremendously_ pouty expression.

Jon looked thoughtfully at the food and then threw a fry at Brendon.

“Hey!” said Brendon. He’d been knuckling his eyes with one hand and yawning. He threw a fry back.

“Oh, no,” said Ray, but Frank had already grabbed a handful of fries and was defending his side of the table. A whole bunch got caught in Ray’s hair – Ray didn’t appear to notice – and Bob had to grab the fries away from everyone and stand up.

“These are not dinnertime manners,” Bob growled. “Knock it off.”

The kids looked a little chastened, but Frank didn’t, not at all. “Frankie,” said Gerard, nudging him with his shoulder. “Set a good example.”

Frank looked poutier than Ryan.

\\\\\

“Bed time,” said Ray.

“No,” said Jon immediately.

“You’re all gonna sleep in here,” said Ray, pointing to the room with the biggest bed. “Like a big sleepover.”

“Okay,” said Spencer. He was holding Ryan’s hand, and they had some sort of whispered conference. “We don’t have our toothbrushes, though.”

“Hotels have extras, don’t worry,” said Ray, who was a big fan of dental hygiene.

“ _No_ ,” said Jon again, and marched back out to the living room. “I’m the oldest, and I’m not tired!”

Bob would have gone after him, but he caught Brendon’s face out of the corner of his eye; that was exhaustion, and those were _real_ tears, and that was a _real_ trembling lip. “I want my mommy,” said Brendon quietly.

Bob swore under his breath. A lot. And then he scooped the kid up and said, “Well, she’s not here right now.”

That was apparently some sort of magical key to the floodgates, because Brendon promptly burst into huge, heaving sobs. His face got all red and his nose got snotty, and he wailed and kicked and hid his face in Bob’s shoulder.

“I’m gonna have to wash this shirt,” Bob muttered to Ray.

Ray had his mom face on. Apparently it wasn’t just for herding Frank around and making sure everyone had their safety equipment before they started a really dangerous mission; it worked for child-wrangling as well. “Frank, go get Jon. I don’t care if he bites. Gerard, help Ryan and Spencer get ready for bed. Bob, try and calm him down. I’m gonna go make Mikey fix this ASAP. Tomorrow’s too important to spend it babysitting.”

Bob nodded. The mission tomorrow was pretty fucking imperative, which was why they’d called Panic out to help in the first place. Frank went after Jon, who started yelling about fair and being the oldest, and Ryan pulled Spencer into the bathroom. The idea of Gerard helping anyone wash up was hilarious to Bob, but he was a little too busy at the moment to laugh.

“Hey,” he said quietly to Brendon. “Bden. C’mon.”

“I. Want. My. Mommy,” Brendon hiccupped, pounding his fist against Bob’s shoulder. “I don’t want to be here anymore! I want to go _home_.”

They couldn’t exactly call up Brendon’s house and tell them what had happened. “We’re in New York,” said Bob quietly. “Your mom’s in Las Vegas.”

“Noooo!” Brendon yelled. He was crying so hard it was difficult to tell what he was saying at all.

Bob wasn’t great with little kids, and he had next to no experience with tiny, screaming, unreasonable children having fits. “Hey,” he said firmly. He sat down on the bed and pried Brendon off his shoulder. Brendon’s face was a mess, and his chest was heaving with sobs. “Tomorrow’s a big day,” he said. “You remember how we’re spies?”

Brendon nodded shakily. He snuffled and wiped the snot on his hand, which was fucking gross.

“Well, you guys are supposed to help us tomorrow. And you can’t do that if you don’t get some sleep.” They also couldn’t help if they were in fucking preschool, but Bob decided not to bring that up. “You’re gonna have to be brave about this, okay? And tomorrow, after we fix this, if you want to go home, you can, I promise.”

Brendon hiccupped and burst into tears again, but Bob was pretty sure he’d cried himself through anger all the way to exhaustion. “I wanna go _home_ ,” Brendon said again. His eyes were fluttering shut, and he had to keep reopening them with serious effort.

“Tomorrow,” Bob repeated. “As soon as Mikey fixes this.”

“Don’t,” said Brendon, “Wanna.” He sort of collapsed onto Bob’s shoulder, and Bob could feel the way his shoulders were shaking, _trying_ to cry, but his breath was evening out. He could tell exactly when Brendon gave up and fell into sleep, too.

Spencer and Ryan came back in, holding hands. “All clean,” said Gerard cheerfully. “I brushed my teeth, too, see!” He exhaled on Bob, who rolled his eyes.

Frank dragged Jon in by the arm. Jon had gone boneless and limp in a beautiful example of passive resistance, and he was opening his mouth to scream, Bob could tell. “I’m the oldest,” Jon started shrilly.

“Jon, shhh,” said Ryan unexpectedly. Jon stopped immediately to look at him. “Brendon,” Ryan said, pointing.

Jon considered for a second, and then sighed, terribly put upon. “Fine,” he whispered. “But I’m not gonna brush my teeth.”

“Eww,” said Spencer. He climbed up on the bed and Ryan went with him. Jon followed. They kicked off their jeans and sneakers – thank god the clothes had shrunk with them.

Bob wasn’t risking waking Brendon back up, even though he was pretty sure the kid was out for good. He pulled off Brendon’s sneakers and said, “You guys got room for one more?”

Ryan immediately squirmed over so there was a space between him and Spencer. “In case he wakes up and freaks out,” he said. That was more words than Bob had heard from Ryan since the whole accidental-kid-ening.

Bob put down Brendon as gingerly as he could. Brendon didn’t stir. Ryan wrapped an arm around Brendon so he could hold hands with Spencer again. Jon had his arms crossed resentfully, but he wiggled over so he was pressed up against Spencer’s back. Bob pulled the blanket up over all of them and shut off the light.

“I’m gonna sing a lullaby!” Gerard whispered happily.

“No,” said Frank. Gerard looked at him, astonished. “All the kids’ songs you know are about dying,” Frank said firmly, and pulled Gerard away from the door.

“’Night,” Bob whispered.

“’Night,” Spencer and Jon whispered back.

They were never, ever going to survive another day of this, Bob thought grimly, and went off to menace Mikey.  


////

  


“So here’s the plan,” said Ray.

Ray always packed an easel in his stuff somewhere; it meant that when they did a full-band briefing he could bust it out and hang blueprints on it. Most of the rest of the time Gerard used it for drying clothes and sometimes hanging art-in-progress. The pointer, though, that was new. Ray smacked it against the easel a couple of times until Frank stopped yawning and looked properly attentive.

“Obviously Mikey won’t be coming with us,” said Ray. “He’s busy trying to undo the damage he did last night.”

“I heard that,” Mikey yelled from the next room. “And I still don’t care. Pete thinks it’s _hilarious_.”

“Stop telling Pete our secrets!” Gerard yelled back crossly, and Frank patted his leg.

Ray cleared his throat and glared until everyone on the couch settled down. Frank yawned, a big asshole yawn, just to annoy him, so Bob smacked him in the side.

“Originally, we were going to have handle security while they took care of the handoff, but that’s not going to work at this point, for obvious reasons. And one of us will have to stay here and babysit, assuming Mikey still hasn’t fixed what he fucked up.”

“I’m _working_ on it!”

“So. Three of us. Thoughts?”

Mostly Bob thought it was fucking impossible. They could get into the building, but without a distraction they couldn’t get to the hand-off location. Mikey had some intel that they were expected, and there might be some nasty characters waiting for them.

“We could,” Gerard started. “We could build a hot air balloon, okay, and then –”

“We can’t build a hot air balloon,” said Ray.

Gerard looked sad. “But if we _could_ do that—” he started

“Which we can’t.”

Frank raised his hand. “We should call Schechter,” he said.

“You know Brian’s busy handling the climate change crisis,” Ray frowned.

Frank rolled his eyes. “I mean, we should call Schechter to babysit, so we’re freed up to have four of us at the UN building today.”

Ray blinked in surprise. “That’s… Hey. That’s not a bad idea, Frank.”

“Duh. I only have good ideas.” Frank giggled like a hyena and draped himself on Gerard. “Right? Right, Gee? Right?”

There was some gross kissage starting up at that end of the couch, so Bob resolutely looked the other way. “Shit,” he said. “Uh. How long have you been up?”

Spencer was standing there, sniffling sleepily and looking up at him with – Jesus, had that kids’ eyes _always_ been so big? “I’na help,” he said, yawning.

“No,” said Bob.

Spencer’s usual murderous glare at being thwarted was tempered by also being the cutest fucking thing on earth. “But I’m _good_ at it!”

“You’re good at it when you’re twenty. You’re _four_ , Spencer. No. What if you got hurt?”

“I’m not Brendon. I’m not gonna cry,” Spencer scowled.

Bob apparently had little-kid instincts, so he grabbed Spencer and pulled him up on his lap. “I’m not worried about you crying,” he said. “I’m worried about you getting hurt.”

Gerard’s eyes lit up, which never boded well for anyone. “Crying!” he said, shoving Frank’s hand out of his jeans.

“What about it?” If it looked like Bob was hugging Spencer that was a _mistake_ ; Bob had a _protective arm_ around the kid, in case he was part of Gerard’s deranged scheme.

Gerard rubbed his hands together like a mad scientist. “What if, right, what if we get Schechter to come with? And he brings the kids? So instead of sneaking in, we just walk in. And when we get near the drop-off point, bam! Crying!”

“Make them the distraction?” Ray said. “But… They’re kids.”

“Only sorta,” said Frank.

“Can they cry on cue?” Ray asked.

Bob sighed. It was a bad fucking idea, and if any of them got hurt he’d never forgive himself. But what they were doing for world hunger was also a pretty big deal. “Brendon can,” he said. “I saw him do it last night.”

“Brendon likes making a scene,” Spencer agreed. He was leaning on Bob, and he smelled like a little kid – crayons and french fries and baby powder, except that was impossible – and maybe Bob had to rethink this whole kid thing. Like, he’d always figured Alicia and Mikey would have kids first. It made sense, because Alicia was from the future, and she already knew they were going to have kids, so why bother waiting? But now Bob was thinking it was sort of nice having someone tiny and warm on his lap, and if he could get one like Spencer – grumpy and a little surly, but also independent and adorable – it might be worth looking into.

“I don’t know, guys,” said Ray. “Are we really gonna endanger kids?”

“Five of us including Schechter, four of them,” said Frank. “That’s zone defense! We get to the hand off, Brendon throws a fit, everyone comes around to check on the poor baby, Bob sneaks off to get the stuff, by the time he gets back we’ve taken them all home. I mean, it relies on Bob not fucking up –” Bob smacked him. “—But otherwise what’s the danger? That leaves four of us to keep an eye out for unsavory types and cameras.”

Ray frowned. “They’re important, remember? What if something goes wrong? What if one of them gets hurt? What if we lose one of them?”

“So only bring Brendon,” Frank offered.

“No,” said Spencer immediately, sitting up.

Gerard sighed, “And if Spencer goes, you know Ryan’s going to insist on going, too, and then what, we leave Jon here alone?”

“They’re little,” Frank said, voice dripping disdain. “Who cares what Spencer wants? We can put him in the closet or something.”

Spencer considered him for a long minute, and then leaned over and very deliberately bit Frank. Hard.

“Owww, motherfucker!” howled Frank, jumping to his feet.

“Language!” said Ray sharply.

“He bit me!”

“I’m coming with you,” Spencer said, scowling. He turned his head suddenly. “Ryan’s up,” he said.

Bob wondered if Mikey had invented anything yet that would test Spencer and Ryan for telepathy. “Okay,” he said. “You’re coming, too. But if any of you does _anything_ we tell you not to, or anything happens, we’re bringing you straight back here, no arguing. Clear?”

“We didn’t take an official vote,” Gerard complained. “Ray! Bob’s subverting the democratic process again.”

Ray rolled his eyes. “Hands up who’s down with the new plan?” he asked. Everyone raised their hands except Frank, who had his hand in his mouth, sucking on the place where Spencer’d bit him.

“Me, too,” yelled Mikey. “Get them out of here, give me some peace. I think I can rig something up with the hairdryer, if I can get ten minutes of quiet.”

“Breakfast first,” said Ray. They all looked at him, and he crossed his arms defensively. “Little kids can’t go anywhere until they have a healthy breakfast!” he said, voice even higher than usual.

Bob looked at Spencer. “You like coffee, kid?” Spencer made a face. “I think we’re gonna have to take them down to the hotel brunch thing.”

“Great,” Frank mumbled. “That’ll end well.”

\\\\\

They got a table near the buffet. Brendon was still mostly asleep, with his head down on the table. That was basically how regular Brendon acted first thing in the morning, so Bob wasn’t worried. Jon kept trying to steal coffee – and insisting he was the only one old enough to have it – and Ryan and Spencer were having a very serious whispered conversation that Bob couldn’t hear.

Frank and Ray had refused to come down with the kids, because they were jackasses. Gerard had come with him, even though Frank kept yelling that they were too recognizable. Gerard mostly ignored perfectly sensible advice like that. Who, he asked, was going to be awake this early who also went to a lot of concerts?

So far so good. The kids were behaving themselves, and Gerard was communing with his coffee on a deep, spiritual level that kept him from scaring the few people in the hotel sitting around the brunch room.

Jon nudged Brendon’s shoulder. “Come get waffles with me,” he said.

Brendon flopped a little like a landed fish and shook his head.

“Brennnndon,” Jon wheedled. “There’s strawberries and whipped cream and chocolate chips and powdered sugar to go on top.”

Jon, Bob thought sourly, hid a lot of evil under his normally mellow face. “That’s not a good idea,” he said.

Brendon sat up. “Really?” he said. He looked at Bob. “Can we?”

Bob figured Brendon’s sugar rush was his own problem, or would be in a few hours, when he was a normal-sized person again. Not that Brendon was ever really a normal size, but whatever. “I guess,” he said. “One.”

Brendon made a high-pitched squealing noise and almost fell off his chair. He ran over to the buffet with Jon hot on his heels, probably trying to get him to eat things that would get him even more wound up.

“We want pancakes,” Spencer announced, and Bob figured that wasn’t the royal we, it was him and Ryan.

“’Kay,” he said, and shrugged. How much trouble could they possibly get in just getting pancakes? They’d still be in plain sight. He turned to Gerard. “You really think Mikey can fix this today?” he said.

Gerard rolled his eyes. “If he doesn’t, we’re kind of fucked,” he said. “I don’t know how much Schechter can cover up.”

“People are going to notice if Panic stop showing up to their own concerts,” Bob agreed.

“They might not notice if kids show up, though,” Gerard mused. Bob gave him a look. “I’m just saying, they’re still in high school or something anyway, right?”

“I think they’re older than that.”

“But like… Barely.”

“Gerard. Just because you’re freaked out about turning thirty-one—”

Gerard made a strangled noise and grabbed a cigarette. “It’s young, okay?” he said, getting a little squeaky. “It is totally young!”

Bob didn’t roll his eyes, but only because he had tons of practice not rolling his eyes at Gerard.

There was a huge, rattling crash by the buffet. Gerard and Bob both stood up automatically. It wasn’t Brendon, like Bob had mostly expected; it was Ryan whose plate had slipped out of his hands, and who was standing next to a bunch of plate shards and a pile of ruined pancakes on the floor. Spencer was around the corner, or he’d already have been between Ryan and the large, angry man with the obvious hangover who was turning around to yell at him.

As soon as the man opened his mouth – “What are you _doing_ , you got that shit all over my pants!” – Ryan shrank in on himself. Bob was ready to vault the table. What the fuck was the point of knowing twenty ways to kill a man if you didn’t use them to kill assholes who yelled at little kids? But Gerard was already there, magically between Ryan and the guy, and he had his lecture face on.

“Are you kidding?” Gerard started. Gerard didn’t need to breathe when he was lecturing at someone, but he did need to gesticulate, and he was getting coffee everywhere wit his crazy hands. “Pants can be washed; children’s emotional stability needs to be nurtured! Do you think he did it on purpose? Are you just being an asshole?”

Ryan had been on the brink of tears, giant eyes and hands pressed over his mouth. He edged forward so he could cling to Gerard’s jeans like a physical shield. “I was just—” the man started.

Gerard wasn’t close to being finished. He took a deep breath and Bob tuned him out.

Brendon was mostly back over to the table, but he was wavering between running back over to defend Ryan and sitting down to eat his mountain of sugar. “Sit,” Bob ordered, pulling Brendon into a chair. “Eat. Gerard’s handling this.” Brendon nodded reluctantly.

“—And that’s just _one_ way that failing to nurture all children is going to come back and haunt our society!” Gerard was yelling. Ryan as an adult had always looked at Gerard Way with a certain amount of hilarious hero worship – Brendon said it was something about the way Gerard used eyeliner – but the look on little Ryan’s face was breathtaking. That was _love_ , Bob was pretty sure.

Eventually Gerard wound down, or at least the guy looked shamed enough to mumble an apology and run away. “I need a cigarette,” Gerard muttered, and went storming outside. Spencer had new plates for him and Ryan, and pulled him over to the table.

“You okay?” Bob asked. If Ryan couldn’t handle strangers at the hotel, how was he going to handle actually going out into public?

Ryan nodded. “Gerard’s loud,” he almost-whispered, but he sounded a little awed when he said it.

“I’m loud, too!” Brendon volunteered, in case anyone was wondering. He was also covered in melted chocolate and maple syrup. Bob grabbed a napkin and tried to wipe him off, but he was coated in stickiness up to his elbows.

Something in Bob’s head pinged, and he did a headcount. “You guys,” he said. “Where the hell is Jon?”

Spencer looked around. “He was over there,” he said, pointing toward the door.

Bob swore like a maniac under his breath. “He wouldn’t go outside by himself, right?” he said. “Spencer?”

Spencer considered. “He said that you’re treating him like a baby.”

“He fucking… Fuck!” said Bob, standing up.

Brendon stared at him. “You’re not supposed to swear!” he said, clearly outraged.

“Sorry,” Bob said. “Spence, can you keep these two here and under control?”

Spencer nodded seriously. Sure, he was four, but he was by far the most sensible kid Bob had ever encountered. “Be right back,” said Bob, and ran for the door.

He didn’t quite make it; Brian walked in, holding Jon by the arm. They hadn’t told Brian what was going on, exactly, just that they needed him to stop by and that something was up with Panic. Brian had the same face on he got when Gerard decided that they were going to steal thermonuclear weapons, or dyed his hair white. Perplexed and annoyed and a little worried that it was going to cost the band a lot of money.

“This,” said Brian, pointing to Jon, “Had better not be what I think it is.”

“Uh,” said Bob, looking around. There weren’t that many other people in the room, and mostly they were still reeling from Gerard’s lecture. “Do you maybe think that Mikey accidentally turned Panic into toddlers?”

Brian blanched. “Something like that, but I was hoping… How come this one was outside?”

“He made a break for it,” Bob said grimly, giving Jon a stern look. “But he’s gonna knock that shit off if he wants to come with us on this mission.”

Jon scuffed his sneaker on the floor. “I’m six,” he complained. “I’m not a baby like them.”

“Then don’t _run away_ like a baby,” said Bob. “Or you can’t come with us.”

“’M sorry,” Jon mumbled, sounding not sorry at all.

Brian gave Bob his most horrified look. “How long?” he said.

“About twelve hours, now,” said Bob. “It’s… been exciting.”

Behind them, Brendon yelled, “Oooh, look! A _piano_!”

“Fuck,” said Bob succinctly. Jon giggled.

\\\\\

The ticket seller at the UN was a nice young woman with her hair in a bun and no idea who My Chemical Romance were. On the other hand, she took one look at Brendon – all cleaned up and beaming at her with his best Hi, Stranger, Please Love Me smile – and cooed, “Oh, how _precious_ ,” and they all got tickets for half price.

Bob was in charge of Spencer, so he’d expected to have Ryan by default, but Ryan was still watching Gerard with his giant eyes, following him around like a tiny duckling. Gerard hadn’t really noticed, but when Ray nudged him, Gerard shrugged and took Ryan’s hand. Ryan looked like he might swoon.

Any time they didn’t have a firm hold on Brendon he started running around and introducing himself to people, which was probably a bad idea. Ray swung Brendon up on his shoulders where it seemed unlikely he could do much damage. Brian had Jon firmly by the hand. Threatening Jon hadn’t done any good, but telling him they were counting on him had calmed him down a lot, especially when Bob pointed out that they needed him to keep an eye on Spencer.

“The signal,” Spencer whispered, tugging on Bob’s hand. When they got to the right spot on the tour, he was going to start coughing, and then the boys were going to throw the biggest possible fit. Brendon was ecstatic over getting to scream and cry as loudly as he wanted.

“Not yet,” Bob whispered back.

Spencer was fiercely determined to help, but he was also four; the tour was long and people were talking and there were lots of big crowds. He got bored pretty quickly and wandered back to talk to Ryan; the two of them giggled and whispered, while Brendon yelled, “What? _What?_ ” from Ray’s shoulder, and squirmed until Ray put him down. Jon appeared to be talking Brian into… Something. Clearly Jon had untapped depths that Bob was going to have to figure out how to exploit just as soon as he was big again.

When they got to the right hallway Bob turned around and gave Gerard their standard signal. Gerard nodded and nudged Frank with his hip. Bob didn’t worry about letting Ray know; Ray actually paid attention during this kind of shit. And then Bob started coughing.

He’d been worried the kids wouldn’t notice, but as soon as Bob cleared his throat he heard a familiar wail. Brendon threw himself on the floor, looking for all the world like Ryan had tripped him. “Owwwww!” he howled, “My kneeeee! You! Did! That! On! Purpose!”

Not to be outdone, Ryan promptly burst into tears of his own, quiet but just as devastating because he looked guilty and tragic and heartbroken. The whole tour stopped, and every parent in the group sighed sympathetically.

Bob knew a cue when he saw one. He let the group move around him to get closer to the kids, and four steps backwards he was around the corner into a highly restricted area. This way he was actually a lot closer to where he needed to be than with the whole break-and-enter plan, but it was also riskier. There were way more cameras and chances to get caught. Luckily, Bob was basically a ninja, and he had the blueprints for the whole building in his head; he headed down the hall, third door on the left, knock the secret knock, and the door slipped open. “Vampires will never hurt you,” muttered someone, and handed Bob a piece of paper, which he stuck in his pocket to read later – it would all be in code anyway – and hurried back. “Too easy,” he whispered to Ray, who nodded.

They hadn’t even moved; Brendon was still sobbing on the floor and half the grownups in the group were trying to console him, while the tour guide and the rest of them were trying to talk Ryan down from a silent, hysterical fit.

“Oh,” the poor tour guide was saying, “These poor _babies_.” She knew she was supposed to be moving the tour on, but she wasn’t immune to Brendon’s ridiculously pouty face, or Ryan’s trembling lip.

Another tour guide appeared out of nowhere. “Maybe we should take the family to another room to let the children calm down,” he offered smoothly. “While the rest of the tour moves on?”

“Oh, no, that’s cool,” said Schechter, but the guy was already shooing Spencer and Jon down a side hallway, and that was enough to make Ryan and Brendon run after them, so the grownups didn’t have a lot of choices except to follow. The guy had his hand on Spencer’s shoulder, pushing him, and if he didn’t move it, he was going to lose it when Bob ripped his arm out of his socket.

They went around a corner in a hallway that was awfully empty, and the tour guide opened a door. Spencer stopped dead in the doorway and said, “No,” really clearly. Bob immediately felt for the gun he wasn’t carrying.

The tour guide gave Spencer a little shove, and Jon yelled, “Stop that! but the guy still had Spencer by the arm. Bob was close enough to see what Spencer had seen; there was a man in that room, and he was holding a gun. Well. Fuck.

Gerard and Frank looked at Ray, and Ray looked at Bob. Bob said, “Not with the kids around.” He didn’t want anyone to get killed in front of impressionable toddlers. As long as they weren’t actually about to get shot, he planned to handle it as quietly as possible. Plus, there were probably more guys lurking somewhere. They tended to lurk. It was one of the most annoying things about counter-espionage.

“Did you really think you could come in here unnoticed?” asked the man with the gun.

“Guttierez!” yelled Gerard. “You son of a bitch.”

“We meet again,” said Guttierez. Bob knew they’d thwarted the guy a couple of times before, but he wasn’t really clear on when. It might have been the thing in Venezuela, with the rockets, or it might have been the thing in Australia with the nuclear fission device. Either way, the guy was probably looking to get back at them for some seriously hurt feelings. “Bryar’s going to give me whatever he just received, and no one will get hurt.” He looked pointedly at the kids.

If the tour guide didn’t let go of Spencer’s arm soon, Bob was going to throw subtlety out the window and kill everyone in sight. The guy was holding it too tightly, and at an awkward angle, so Spencer was kind of dragged up sideways. So far he hadn’t said anything, he was just looking at Bob calmly, like… Well, he was waiting for a signal, obviously, and that was a pretty awesome thing for a kid to do. Bob glanced over at the rest of them. Ryan was watching Spencer, and Jon was trying to edge closer to Spencer, but Brendon was looking expectantly at Bob. Bob tended to forget that Brendon was actually sort of good at this stuff, in his own totally ridiculous way.

“How about this,” Gerard said. “You back the fuck off and let us go, and we won’t fucking kill any of you.”

“How about _this_ ,” Guttierez replied. “I’ll start by shooting the biggest one, and go in size order.” He pointed his gun at Jon.

“No!” Spencer yelled, and bit the guy who was holding him by the arm.

Bob moved pretty fucking fast when he needed to. Guttierez had a gun, and then he didn’t, because Bob had taken it away from him, and also punched him in the fucking face. The other guy lost his hold on Spencer, because Brendon elbowed him in the crotch.

Bob tossed Ray the gun, and Ray started in on his standard speech. “Are you fucking kidding? Call your guys and tell them to back the fuck off; we’re walking out of here. No funny business, either, because we don’t negotiate with dumb fucks who threaten kids.” Brian used the tour guide’s tie to tie the guy up.

The kids were sort of huddled together in the middle of the room. Bob considered for a second, and then picked Spencer up. “You okay?” he asked. “Did he hurt your arm? Want me to kill him?”

Spencer shook his head. “I’m okay,” he said. And then he paused and leaned in to whisper, “It was scary when he wanted to hurt Jon.”

“Yeah?” Bob asked. “Nobody gets to hurt Jon. Don’t worry about it. You did a good job.”

“Me, too, I did a good job too!” Brendon said, tugging on Bob’s jeans.

“You were totally kick ass,” Frank agreed, leaning down to high-five Brendon.

Brendon slapped his hand, but shook his head. “You’re not supposed to swear,” he chided Frank.

Guttierez was on the phone; as soon as he hung up Ray announced, “I’m sick of this shit,” and slammed the guy’s head into the wall. Guttierez went limp and slid down to the floor. Bob gave Ray a look. “What?” Ray asked crossly. “He pointed a gun at a toddler. Fuck him.”

“Safe passage out,” said Gerard. “What about that?”

“I got it under control,” Brian said. “The good guys are on their way to clean up this little mess. That fucking paper better be worth it, though. I hate calling the Pentagon on my watch. It fucks up the minute hand.”

Bob frowned. “Won’t they be pissed that we’re working with NGO’s on the banned list?”

“Who gives a fuck, as long as the rice riots stop?” Gerard said.

Spencer squirmed until Bob put him down. “Ryan wants to go home,” Spencer announced, but he hadn’t actually been talking to Ryan, so Bob had his doubts.

“Get Mikey on the fucking phone,” Frank said. “Tell him if he hasn’t fixed this by the time we get back, I’m gonna fuck him up.” He glanced at Brendon, who was more and more horrified. “Sorry,” he said. “I mean, uh… Tell him to fix this or else.”

“He’s working on it,” Gerard scowled. “I mean. He’d better be. We’re some shitty babysitters.”

Spencer was hugging Ryan, and Jon was leaning on Spencer’s shoulder. Brendon had been distracted by Frank, who was playing that game where he held his hands out for Brendon to slap and then moved them too fast for Brendon to get him. Brendon was starting a serious giggle fit. “Eh,” said Bob. “Could be worse, I guess.”

\\\\\

Mikey’s invention looked a lot like the hairdryer, with a remote control soldered to the side, and flashing lights everywhere. “You’re sure that’s gonna work?” Gerard asked for the seventh time.

Mikey shrugged. “Either that,’ he said, “or it’ll turn them into even smaller kids. Or geckos. That’d be sort of cool. We could keep them in a terrarium.”

“We’re not keeping anyone in a terrarium,” said Ray firmly.

Mikey sighed. “Just put them all on the couch. I told me this is gonna work fine, and I wouldn’t lie.”

Brendon had fallen mostly asleep on Ryan, and Ryan wasn’t moving much either. Apparently it was naptime. Spencer climbed up next to Ryan and then looked doubtfully at Bob. “Is this gonna hurt?” he asked, as Mikey pointed the hairdryer at them.

“It better not,” said Bob, giving Mikey a stern look.

Mikey shrugged.

“S’okay,” Jon said reassuringly, taking Spencer’s hand. “I’ve got you.”

“Awwww,” said Gerard, and Frank elbowed him in the side.

“Okay, move the fuck back, the last thing we need is for Gerard to be even _older_ ,” Mikey said. Gerard squawked in outrage, but he edged back anyway.

There was a zapping noise and a bright flash of light, and then the kids on the couch were suddenly older and bigger. Not a _lot_ older, Bob couldn’t really believe they were old enough to be on their second album and shit already, but older enough that they looked like their normal weird little selves.

Brendon yawned and blinked. “What the fuck?” he said. “My arm’s all tingly.” He looked over and frowned. “Um, Jon? Are you and Spencer holding hands?”

They were, but Spencer snatched his hand free so quickly there could have been cartoon sound effects. “No,” said Spencer quickly. “Shut the fuck up.”

“We were,” said Jon. “I’m pretty sure. Uh. Hey.” He waved at Gerard and Frank. “That was fucking weird. Did we… Did something just happen?”

“You were preschoolers briefly,” said Gerard. “But you’d better go because you guys have a concert in Philly tonight and you’re gonna be late if you don’t take Mikey’s helicopter.”

Jon blinked. “We were _what_?” he said. “Is this like when you lost Spencer at Woodstock?”

“We didn’t _lose_ him, we _misplaced_ him, and I found him eventually, didn’t I?” Mikey groused.

“No worries; we’ll show you the pictures later,” Frank said, and started giggling. “I took secret pictures. Lots of them. You were so cute with your widdle faces and your widdle bodies and—”

“He’s kidding, right?” Spencer asked Bob. “He’s not serious?”

“You were this many,” said Gerard, holding up four fingers, and then he and Frank started laughing so hard they almost fell over.

Spencer glowered, and it looked a little like he might try and hit someone, so Ray said quickly, “Up to the roof, guys, helicopter, let’s not have to explain why you’re late, okay? Up, up, up, up.” Brendon pulled Ryan to his feet and Jon offered Spencer a hand, but Spencer went inexplicably red and jumped to his feet, ignoring Jon completely. Bob filed that away under ‘weird.’

Ray and Mikey and Brian walked them out to make sure nothing happened to them on the stairs. (“Jesus, I don’t _have_ any other experimental machines right now, relax!” “I’m just saying, Mikey, we don’t have time for you to turn Spencer into a duck or something.”)

Bob turned to Gerard. “That was a fucked up way to spend the weekend,” he said.

“You loved it,” Gerard replied, sitting down on the couch with Frank. That meant there was probably going to be some groping in a minute, and Bob needed to go get his iPod so he could blast it at top volume and drown out all the noises. “You thought they were adorable.”

“Shut up,” said Bob, who wasn’t going to lie.

“It was okay,” Frank agreed unexpectedly. They both turned to look at him. “I think I liked them better as toddlers. They talked less. It was way less annoying.”

“You were just excited to have someone to play with,” Bob said.

“Yeah, there’s that, too,” Frank agreed, and started licking Gerard.

“Yo, did you really take pictures?” Bob asked.

Frank giggled. “Awww,” he said, “are you gonna _miss_ them?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bob said, and punched him gently in the shoulder. Then he went into the other room, because Gerard looked pretty determined to climb into Frank’s pants, and there were some things Bob didn’t need to see. Again.

Besides, if maybe he _was_ going to miss them, that was no one’s business but his own.


End file.
